Put it Out
by KissTheBoy7
Summary: RPOV. "You know, I don't think I ever really stopped and stood back to appreciate her until now. Ironically, it's now that I know I have to put the candle out." Angst and implied RoMi breakup with a dash of implied Marker and mentions of April. Rated for Roger's mouth.


**A/N: Upon realizing that I've never written an actual breakup… outside of rp… I thought that it would be a good idea to overcome that irrational fear. Or at least try. So I've got some RoMi angst here and it could TOTALLY BE CANON. (very proud of myself) Anyways, enjoy!**

Disclaimer: _RENT still isn't mine… Do you want me to sing about it? I WILL. I SWEAR._

**Put it Out**

The scary part isn't that I love her, it's that I don't. Or I don't think so anymore. With all of my experience, I'm not sure why I still thought that my supposed "love" for Mimi would last anywhere near the forever she seemed to be hoping for.

Honestly- it was my first relationship following April, following withdrawal, following my death sentence. For God's sake, I hadn't left the loft in _months_. How was I supposed to resist the charms of a cute, young Latina in a miniskirt and a beeper?

Too tempting. Too perfect. She was my escape, the light of my life. I had _needed_ a light in my life back then. That's all it was, looking back. I needed someone. Someone to fill the gap that April had so violently left in my chest as she tore her way out of it, all splattered blood and pale, cold skin and carrot-colored hair floating in the icy water as she stared up at me with those empty, lifeless dark eyes.

"We've got AIDS…"

Mimi, she was the opposite of April. She was younger than me, not older, and she was an optimist rather than the pessimist April always was. I think that their only similarity was their smile. Between you and me, that's the same smile that all of my girlfriends past have worn. Call me a sucker, but there's just something undeniably promising about that smile…

I could never tell her that of course. There's a lot of things that I can't tell Mimi. A lot of secrets that no one knows, not even Mark, because even if he's my best friend in the whole world I'm already in way too deep with him to risk breaking all the way through, pushing him out. What if he leaves me? Mark is my constant, the only person who'll hold my hand when I'm throwing up because I've gotten completely smashed in lieu of fucking the groupies after a show because I can't, can't, can't do that anymore or else I could get somebody sick, and what if it happened to be Mark? I've seen the way he looks at me. Probably the same way I look at him.

I should tell him, I should tell him…

But no. Mark doesn't need to know anything, and neither does Mimi. I decided that a long time ago. They can both nag me all day and night about it and I won't be budging.

They want to call me stubborn? I'll show them stubborn like only Roger Davis knows how to do it.

And besides the fact that I am well and truly the biggest asshole in this overcrowded loft, I don't need to go upsetting the balance. Who wants to listen to Mimi go off in Spanish _again?_ Somehow, in the near two years I've been with her, Meems has failed to teach me a word of Spanish. Except for a couple of the dirty ones that get me dirty looks when I say them anywhere in earshot of the old Hispanic woman who lives on the third floor, always out hanging her clothes on a line while I'm smoking on the fire escape, glaring up at me and muttering about "us hooligans" under her breath.

Or at least that's how Mimi is translating it. I don't really know if I trust her judgment. Whatever that woman is saying, it's nothing half as polite as _hooligans._

I'm getting myself off track. The issue is Mimi. Mimi and I, actually. Me and Mimi. MimiandRoger. This… relationship. I never expected her to come back. And even then, I never expected her to survive. There's another thing that scares me- she's fading. She used to be so full of life, and she still is, but now there's bags under her eyes and her skin paler than it's ever been, and her hands shake in mine.

I guess I do love her, in a sense. But it's not the way that it was before. Santa Fe… it changed me more than I thought. Leaving changed me.

Leaving _Mark_ changed me…

I mean, I figured the first thing I'd do when I got back was serenade my girlfriend with the song I'd so hastily written down on the way home, the one that had been buzzing in my ears for weeks, months. Those words needed to come _out._ I'd raced up the stairs, two at a time, all six flights to her floor- and then I'd passed right by.

Somehow, on my way back to our building, I'd forgotten all about Mimi and my mind became permanently fixed on Mark, what his face would look like when he saw me, what he would say, what he would do...

Mark. _My_ Mark. It's true that during withdrawal I became clingy- I'll admit that. Grudgingly. And even before, we… we were sort of touchy-feely friends. I remember meeting him, a scrawny nineteen-year-old new to the city, so corruptible it made my mouth water. I'd taken him under my wing. And three years after that, he'd taken me in his arms and held me as I sobbed, begged, the only thing on my mind April's limp body and- I'm ashamed to say- the heroin she wouldn't be providing anymore.

But…

I never thought that it was anything more than that. I never thought it _could _be. I had Mimi, didn't I? Against all odds I _still_ have her. I don't deserve her and I never have. Mark, either. I don't honestly think I deserve anyone, especially the beautiful falling star that is Mimi Marquez, the woman I left when she needed me most.

I don't know how Mark did it with me. Watched me tremble and heave and scream and lash out at anything within reach. He has so many bruises, scars, some of which I know he'll never tell me about. I don't remember putting them there but I know that I did.

And though Mimi isn't enough to physically overpower me, I still couldn't take it. It hurt. It hurt so badly. Our relationship had always been rocky on this point, but it wasn't like we were focused on it all the time. Back in the beginning, there was _romance_. There were shitty gas station roses and even shittier poems scribbled on hot-dog vendor napkins on the way home. There were words written in the frost on the window, ones that she took the time to write backwards so that I could read it from the inside.

Mimi meant so much to me. She meant _everything_. She walked in when the whole world was walking out on me- and she knew, right from the beginning, how fucked up it was going to be.

She stayed anyways. I feel bad for using her that way.

The girl that waltzed into my life with a candle and a glow in her eyes is still here, but she's aged. Different. She follows the same ideals, loves just as much, throws just as much passion into everything she does…

Maybe it's me that's changed. Probably. I don't know.

God, I don't know how I'm going to do this… Though when I think about it, I won't really be breaking her heart. She's clean now, and I would know. I've been snooping. I'm not even sorry. There's a conspicuous absence of needles and tiny baggies, no more fine layers of white powder on the floor or the dresser or the table, and I haven't found a misplaced spoon or lighter since probably February. I know Mimi. I know how she thinks, how she copes.

This isn't going to result in a fight. It won't even probably result in any tears- on her part, anyways. I know I'll be bawling by the end of it.

But Mimi, she knows me too. And I know that she knows about Mark. And…I guess that I just know that she'll understand. I don't have a lot of time left. More than her, but that's not saying much.

I might say that I'll never do it, I'm too careful, I don't want to hurt him, get him sick, but the reality is that I've always been impulsive and if I'm going to slip up in the future, I'd really rather be prepared for it. I'm not a cheater. I couldn't put either of them through that… So instead, I'm going to put Mimi through this. Myself, as well.

No day but today, right?

You know, I don't think I ever _really_ stopped and stood back to appreciate her until now. Ironically, it's now that I know I have to put the candle out.

"Mimi?"

She looked up from her magazine and smiled wearily, chocolate eyes bright in her tired face. "Yeah, Roger?"

I took a deep breath.

"I should tell you…"

**A/N: So… I couldn't do it. Call me a pussy. XP I can't help it if I have an irrational fear! Still, I really like how this turned out. Bye for now guys!**


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